(Last to last year in frustration, this letter came out. Now when Commonwealth Games are at the door Mother Yamuna is asking for justice on her death bed)

Revered Citizens of India,

I am mother of one sixth of humanity, But now a stigma on my own sons. My own sons are raping me for their own prosperity and development. I want to tell you what is my story and what are my ideas while sitting on the death bed.

My story starts from a myth and a reality. My sons believe that I came from heaven while scientists say that I have originated from the glaciers of Himalayas. I believe in both. My father is Himalaya and I originate from Yamunotari glacier, now in state of Uttarakhand. My birth was considered as the end of vows of Aryan civilization. The oldest civilization started flourishing on my banks and sister Ganges also supported this cause. World’s greatest religion was founded in my territory. The Godly men like Sri Krishna played in my lap, Hazarat Nizamudin the follower of last Prophet spread the message of peace in front of my eyes, Sahib-e-Kamal Guru Gobind Singh composed divine poems in my company. The mighty rulers came to conquer the lands of mine. My children fought well, many were martyred but they never surrendered. I am the symbol of their courage and spirit of freedom. When Britishers took off the city residing my side, I felt a little bit discouraged. Blood was shed but Alas! Peace came. They gave my daughter Delhi same status which she had before. I felt satisfied.At the mighty night on 14th August, 1947 my sons claimed independence. The first Prime Minister of India removed the flag of slavery from Red Fort and displayed the flag of sovereignty. My eyes were full of tears and my heart was filled with happiness. I felt proud of my sons.

Satellite image of the Indo-gangetic plain, showing haze and pollution over Bangladesh and North-Eastern India

Source: NASA

My hopes started shattering with the rise of India. I saw the development happening; my soul started questioning the inhuman face of ongoing progress. My own sons started encroaching my hands, somewhere they constructed huge dams to suck my blood, I said nothing instead felt proud with the idea that I am serving my sons. On the door of my daughter Delhi, Wazirabad I was again captured. The water from my body was satisfying the thirst of capital. My heart was delighted with this. While I was welcomed by Najafgarh drain in the entrance, I made the cancerous water part of my pure blood. After this episode I didn’t stop many other drains were thrown in me forcibly. The cities like Agra, Vrindavan, Mathura and Allahabad instead of protesting started competing with Delhi. I felt betrayed.

Today, when more than 60 years of independence have been completed, I am dying. On the death bed only sometimes my lips start moving. I start laughing on my sons. On one side they are raping me and my sisters, their own mothers. While on the other hand, they are fighting for the temple of Rama in Ayodhya, burned whole of Gujarat and Mumbai for that, this seems to me very contradictory. I am their mother existing in this world serving them, instead of fighting for my cause. They are killing thousands of innocent people for a person whose mere existence has been questioned by many intellectuals. Now the Amarnath issue, my sons are the foolish people I have seen in the world. For a mere piece of land they have placed heaven of earth on fire. The lands of me and my sisters, their mothers with whose pure milk they have flourished are being encroached. They themselves celebrating the encroachment and fighting for God, about whose existence nobody is sure.

Shame on me and my sons.

Mother of 115 crores of shameless people.

Yamuna